


The Gift of the Magi

by un-shit-yourself (fenix_down)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Bad Gift Ideas, Fluff, Gift Giving, Hawkewardness, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 04:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10654584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenix_down/pseuds/un-shit-yourself
Summary: It had been one hectic, emotional, and passionate year since Anders moved into the estate, and Hawke was determined to give the mage something to honor their anniversary. Anders had been the one to mention it in passing, saying that he couldn’t believe time had gone by so quickly; Hawke made a comment about “time flying when you’re having fun” and gave Anders a wink. Truthfully, there had been a lot to keep them occupied outside of the bedroom; the mage underground, all the favors and jobs Hawke did for the city’s inhabitants, and the tragedy with Leandra.But despite everything that had happened, all the turmoil and the stress, Hawke had never been happier. He wanted to show Anders how much he loved him, how much he needed him, with some sort of token the mage could have as a reminder of what he meant to Hawke. The problem was that he’d never been good with gift-giving and had no idea where to start.





	The Gift of the Magi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [draco_illius_noctis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/draco_illius_noctis/gifts).



> Written for [draco-illius-noctis](http://draco-illius-noctis.tumblr.com) who won my fic giveaway LAST YEAR and has the patience of a fade spirit, and is also the best <3
> 
> No beta, we write like men.

It had been one hectic, emotional, and passionate year since Anders moved into the estate, and Hawke was determined to give the mage something to honor their anniversary. Anders had been the one to mention it in passing, saying that he couldn’t believe time had gone by so quickly; Hawke made a comment about “time flying when you’re having fun” and gave Anders a wink. Truthfully, there had been a lot to keep them occupied outside of the bedroom; the mage underground, all the favors and jobs Hawke did for the city’s inhabitants, and the tragedy with Leandra. 

But despite everything that had happened, all the turmoil and the stress, Hawke had never been happier. He wanted to show Anders how much he loved him, how much he needed him, with some sort of token the mage could have as a reminder of what he meant to Hawke. The problem was that he’d never been good with gift-giving and had no idea where to start.

Most of the ideas Hawke had for gifts were practical things: supplies for the clinic, new robes, more potions ingredients, maybe some smuggled books from the Circle. None of those were “special” enough. The other, easier ideas included a cat (though Anders had already found and adopted one a few months earlier; Hawke didn’t need another Queen Gwen-a-Fur climbing the drapes) and various inappropriate sexual acts (which he was fully prepared on gifting regardless). He was in need of assistance.

Hawke found Isabela at the bar, looking annoyed that another morning had arrived so early in the day. “Izzy, I have a problem.” he began.

“Oh, dear. Too embarrassed to have Anders brew you some stamina potions?” she joked, and laughed at his indignant scoff. “Relax, ‘O Champion of the Bedroom,’ I’ve heard plenty from your tent to know that’s not true.”

Hawke scowled. “I’m going to cast a sleep spell on _your_ tent next time we’re out.”

It was Isabela’s turn to frown. “But I get such giggles out of hearing how poorly Anders tries to keep quiet.”

“Yes, well, we can’t always get what we want. _Anyway_ , that’s not why I need your help. It’s almost been a year since Anders moved in, and I want to give him a gift.”

“And you want my advice? I know you can think of _plenty_ of things to give Anders without my assistance.”

“You’re not wrong, but I want to get him an actual present this time,” he said wryly.

Isabela’s eyes lit up, and her smirk made Hawke nervous. “Why not both?”

“I don’t like it when you smile like that.”

“Don’t worry, sweet thing, you can trust me.” She gripped Hawke’s forearm and Hawke reluctantly let her lead him out of the pub.

He was surprised to see she was guiding them to Hightown, and more surprised to see the quaint, unassuming storefront they came to. “What, are we getting Anders a tea set?”

Isabela scoffed. “Have some faith in Auntie Pirate,” she said, and pushed open the door. 

Hawke followed, and was hit with a blast of heady perfume that nearly made his eyes water, but the display of items in the store was what took his breath away. Shelves full of sex toys in every size and color, silk lingerie, brocade corsets, and even some leather implements that Hawke didn’t know if he should examine too closely. Isabela greeted the shopclerk like an old friend and guided him around the selection, offering various commentary.

“Ooh, you think pink is Anders’ color, or maybe more of a purple?” she purred, holding up a lace garter belt.

“Maker’s balls, Izzy,” he swore, his face the same color as the fabric. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“You wanted something romantic, right? Nothing more romantic than fancy knickers. Ooh, or these.” She picked up a set of black leather cuffs, held together with a chain. “You can use them for Anders’ ‘captured apostate’ fantasy. He’d swoon.”

“Firstly, I’m going to kill Varric for putting that conversation into a book, and secondly…” He trailed off distractedly, eyes widening. “What is _that_?” he asked, pointing to an obscenely carved toy. It looked phallic, much the same way that a tree looked phallic; the size of it made his brain stop as he tried to determine how such a thing could interact with anatomy.

Isabela took it in hand, whistling in appreciation. “Says it’s the ‘Dragon’s Delight.’ You always wanted to be a dragon, didn’t you? Here’s your chance!” She waved it at Hawke, who backed away slowly, right into a cluster of stockings. Isabela laughed. “I might get this only for the novelty of it.”

“ _I’m_ certainly not getting it,” Hawke grumbled. 

She frowned, gesturing broadly with the toy. “Are you saying nothing here seems good enough for Anders? Don’t be so boring, Hawke.”

The mage’s eyes trailed back over the shelves. “Well. I mean. I didn’t say that.” He cleared his throat. “But I need to find him a _real_ gift, too.”

Isabela’s grin was dazzling. “Ooh, which one do you think would _tickle his fancy_?”

“Nope, not answering, you get to wait outside. I know your wily ways and Varric doesn’t need more material.” 

She pouted and made sad eyes at him, but eventually stalked outside and waited for Hawke to make his purchase, which he kept close to his chest and away from prying rogue eyes. “Will you at least tell me what color it is?” she begged.

Hawke grumbled, gripping the bag tighter. “...Red.” She clapped her hands in excitement.

\---

Meanwhile, Anders was spending his morning as he usually did, tending to patients in his clinic and making notes on his manifesto whenever he had a free moment. He had a suspicion that Hawke was trying to find him a gift for their anniversary, and regretted bringing the date up only for the fact that he didn’t want his lover to feel obligated to give him something. Maker knew Hawke already did enough for him, whether with the clinic or at home. 

On the other hand, Hawke deserved something from Anders to show how grateful he was. He could hardly believe that it had been a year since their first night together, the whirlwind of passion and Hawke’s impulsive request for Anders to move in; Hawke had certainly been the best thing Anders had in this dismal city. He couldn’t think of an item to properly show his appreciation, though. Nothing Anders could think of came close to how much the man meant to him, and it wasn’t as though Hawke lacked for anything with his mansion in Hightown. 

Anders sighed and set down his quill, rubbing his forehead in annoyance. Justice hummed in sympathy, and the mage glanced around to verify the clinic was empty before speaking aloud. “I don’t suppose you have any suggestions?”

The mental image Justice gave him of a bloody Templar helmet in a gift box made Anders muffle a laugh against his palm. “That’s not exactly romantic, though I’m sure Hawke would still appreciate it,” he said. 

The spirit gave the mental equivalent of a _hmph_ ,* and the next barrage of imagery had Anders making an entirely different noise behind his hand as his face flushed. “Maker’s breath, Justice… I don’t even know if Hawke can bend like that,” he muttered, though now Anders was rather interested in seeing if it were true.

Before Justice could be encouraged further, there was a knock on the clinic door, and Anders got to his feet clumsily to see to his patient, clearing his throat and hoping he didn’t look too flustered. 

\---

Aveline didn’t bother looking up as Hawke, Varric and Fenris entered her office, just continued writing and muttering to herself. “Bloody Seneschal telling me how to do my job, wish I could wipe that smart look off his face.”

“Is that the job you have for me? Because I accept wholeheartedly,” Hawke said.

Aveline set her quill down and tried not to glare at him. “No. New reports of slavers in a cave on the Wounded Coast.”

“You’d think they’d learn by now,” Varric said, shaking his head.

“I’m glad they haven’t,” Fenris said, flexing his fingers.

“You should come with.” Hawke leaned on Aveline’s desk. “Get some fresh air, take in the sea breeze, imagine Bran when you smash your shield into a slaver’s nose.”

Aveline smirked. “You make a convincing argument. Won’t do to have the Guard Captain getting soft in a chair.”

Aside from a few idiot bandits, the coast was surprisingly quiet as they made their way to the supposed slaver den. Hawke decided that he may as well get some advice about Anders’ gift and kill two birds with one stone. He didn’t expect much in the way of actual help, so the grumbling from Fenris and Aveline didn’t break his stride.

“You’ve given me enough shit about the marigolds to last a lifetime, and now you want my advice?” Aveline asked. 

“If you’ve learned your lesson, sure,” Hawke replied. 

Fenris made a disgusted noise. “I recommend a gag.”

“Ooh, kinky.” Hawke barely dodged the swat to the back of his head.

“I’m going to regret saying this,” Varric said with a sigh, “but if you’re trying for romance, you should probably be asking the dwarf that writes that junk for a living, and not these two hopeless souls.”

“I’ve seen those book covers, you know, I don’t know if I’m convinced. Are you suggesting I try and get Anders into a bodice?” Hawke’s eyes briefly unfocused as he contemplated the image.

Fenris must have also contemplated said image, as he made another noise that somehow sounded _more_ disgusted. “Can you have this conversation elsewhere?”

“Hush, Broody, you might learn something.” Varric pulled out a notebook from inside his coat, flipping through the pages. “Flowers? Jewelry?”

“He’d find some sort of medicinal use for them, and he’s not really one for expensive, pretty things.”

“Obviously,” Fenris muttered, and he dodged Hawke’s staff without looking.

“Poetry?” Varric suggested, and then immediately regretted it. “Actually, nevermind…”

“What, you doubt my creative abilities?” Hawke frowned at the dwarf, then tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Let’s see… what rhymes with ‘great ass’?”

“Jackass,” Fenris immediately replied.

“No class,” Aveline countered.

Hawke pouted. “That’s it, I’m never buying either of you drinks again.”

Luckily before any further poetic musings could happen, they approached the entrance of the cave. It looked unassuming enough, except for the faint sounds of crying coming from inside, interspersed with other voices in Tevene. Fenris’ expression turned eager, and he stepped in front of Aveline to take the lead, reaching the cave right as the poor sap who’d drawn lookout duty ducked outside. He barely had time to gasp in surprise when Fenris’ fist passed through his chest and out the other side, the elf shaking his hand in disgust as the slaver’s corpse dropped to the ground.

It was short work cleaning up the rest of the slavers, with thankfully few injuries on their part, the most memorable being Aveline’s broken nail as she slammed her shield into a slaver’s face. When Hawke asked if she wanted a bandage after the fight, she glared at him, ripped it off with her teeth, and spat it on the ground.

While searching for loot, Hawke discovered a gold amulet around the neck of one of the slavers. He yanked it from its cord and examined it; the symbol was almost familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. Fenris was wiping his greatsword on the robe of a man who’d been neatly decapitated; when Hawke dangled his find in front of his face, the elf raised an eyebrow. “Not worth much outside of Tevinter.”

“What’s this symbol mean?” Hawke asked. “I’ve seen it before, I think.”

“I’m certain it’s rare in the south. That is the symbol of the Tevinter Chantry. Amusing how even the pious can justify oppressing others.” Fenris scoffed, clearly unamused, and sheathed his sword.

“Hmm.” Hawke didn’t know much about the Black Chantry other than its derogatory name, but it was a safe assumption that their views on magic were more permissive than the Chantry he was familiar with. “Do you think Anders would like it?”

Fenris cocked his head, looking from the amulet to Hawke’s hopeful expression; he seemed to reconsider whatever snark he was going to respond with a few times in an effort to mind Hawke’s affections toward Anders, long enough that Varric had taken notice of the thoughtful silence in the corner and shouted at them to hurry up, before finally settling on, “Perhaps.”

That was probably the closest thing to an assurance Hawke could get. “Well, that solves the problem of the anniversary gift, then,” Hawke said cheerfully, tucking the amulet into his belt pouch.

Old habits died hard, though. “And what of the demon? Will you be giving _it_ jewelry as well?”

Hawke’s exclamation of _“FUCK!”_ echoed through the cave and out the entrance, causing all the birds in the area to shit and take flight at once.

\---

Isabela found Anders pacing in his clinic, a host of crumpled paper on the floor and his hands smeared with ink.

“Another fun writing session for your manifesto?” she asked, ignoring him and sauntering over to his potion stock, grabbing a few vials. “Whatever you’re on about, it could use more heaving bosoms.”

Anders snorted and wiped his hands on his tunic. “Everything could use more heaving bosoms. But, no. I’m actually… er. Trying to brainstorm.” He’d long stopped scolding her for taking from him since she always left gold for him to find later, most often inside his smalls.

“Hmm.” Isabela unfolded one of the notes, saw dueling handwriting about chocolates ( _“MILK CHOCOLATE IS MORE ROMANTIC” / “You’re just saying that because you have a sweet tooth!”_ ) and sighed. “Oh dear, you’re both hopeless, aren’t you? Well, the three of you, I mean.”

The blond perked up. “Hawke told you?”

“He did, and the fact that you’re both overthinking this means you’re perfect for each other.” She grinned. “You want me to show you where I took him for ideas?”

“I don’t quite like that look you’re giving me, and besides, that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?”

She looked disappointed, but shrugged. “Hmm, spoilsport. I have to go run these to Kitten. You should come with and get out of this ugly place, the fresh air will help you think.” 

It didn’t take much convincing, so Anders followed her up through Lowtown, enduring the random swats to his ass as they walked. The Alienage had much more activity than usual, with various blankets and tables set around the square, offering trinkets or food for sale. Merrill skipped over from where she’d been surveying pottery and accepted both the potion vials and a kiss on the cheek from Isabela. 

“Oh, how nice of you! I’m sure these will help Alessa with her headaches, she’s had such a hard time caring for the twins with them.” She also smiled at Anders. “And thank you, too. I don’t know if Izzy asked for these but I’m sure she’ll repay you somehow.”

“I will indeed,” Isabela said with an exaggerated grin.

“Not the way she hopes,” Anders replied, and Merrill patted Isabela’s shoulder consolingly. “What’s all this for? Is it a holiday?” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in the Alienage and seen the city elves looking mostly happy.

“No, just market day. We’ve started doing this every month.” 

“More like Kitten started organizing it.” Isabela said with a proud smile. “I told you that everyone here likes your ideas.”

Merrill looked around and beamed. “Well, maybe not all of the ideas. The last one ended with Sel needing a new front door. But it’s been nice to gather and see each other!”

“And this is perfect timing for Anders, since he wants to give Hawke a present.” She nudged the mage with her shoulder as the elf gave him an excited look. “There’s bound to be something here, don’t you think?”

Anders frowned a bit. “I don’t have any coin on me.” Not that he ever really did, but he always left that part unsaid.

Merrill didn’t look dissuaded. “Oh, don’t worry about that. We use a bartering system instead. No one has money here.”

She dragged Anders over to an elven woman with two twin babies nestled in her lap. This was the woman who needed the headache remedy, and Anders could see why with the way her children were pulling at her. Merrill arranged for Anders to have something of the woman’s in return for his potions. A red blanket was spread before her with various items, many of them the sort of junk Hawke loved to pick up on their travels. However, one thing caught his eye; a small polished piece of amber, no bigger than his thumbnail. 

Isabela must have noticed it too, because she pointed and leaned in. “Oooh, it matches your eyes. That’s romantic.”

He didn’t really know what he would do with it, but he liked the way it looked. He thanked the woman and turned the stone between his fingers, examining it. “I’m not sure how to give this to him. I don’t think Hawke would really care for a rock as a gift.”

Merrill clapped her hands. “I have an idea! The clan used to make bracelets for each other with stones we found in the river. I can show you how to braid it into one!”

Anders looked skeptical. “That doesn’t really sound… fancy enough, I suppose?”

“It’s Hawke. He doesn’t want fancy, he wants you,” Isabela said, and then winked. “Or something _from_ you, both physical and material. And speaking of, here.” She pulled one of the braids in her bandana free and unwound a blue stone from her hair, dropping it into Anders’ palm next to the amber. “For your spirity side, hmm?”

The mage looked from the bead to her, Justice giving the equivalent of a smile in his mind, touched by the gesture. “Are you sure?”

Isabela waved a hand. “I’ve got plenty of shiny things. You and Hawke could use some, too.”

They retreated to Merrill’s house and Anders learned the braiding pattern without much trouble, his hands nimble enough with his years of work with potions and wrapping bandages. It filled him with a sense of pride to be able to actually make Hawke’s gift himself. He hoped that his lover would like it, though both Merrill and Isabela (and Justice) assured him that he would.

\---

Hawke paced a furrow into the parlor floor while waiting for Carver’s arrival. Varric had sent a message to his brother through his sizable network of contacts, and Hawke could only hope that he’d be able to come through with his request. It’d be especially helpful if he could get here before Anders came home.

The sound of voices and steel boots instinctively made the hair on the back of Hawke’s neck stand up, but he recognized Carver dismissing Bodhan’s attempts at getting him to unload his armor and get comfortable. The door opened, the sword emblazoned on Carver’s breastplate obvious and unavoidable, and Hawke plastered a casual smile on his face. “There’s my favorite brother!”

“Still not clever, no matter how many times you say it,” Carver grumbled. “Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it was to get this on short notice, _and_ get it out without drawing attention?”

“Do I get a reward for guessing correctly?” Hawke asked, unable to resist the desire to get Carver’s eyebrow to twitch. “Come on, you know how much I appreciate you helping me out.”

Carver made a disgusted noise and tossed a small leather pouch at him, which he caught easily. “Obligatory statement about not wanting to know what you’re going to do with it.”

“Not going to _snort_ it or anything, I’m not that depraved. Can’t a mage do some magey things in peace?” His brother scoffed, but instead of having an argument break out as per usual, Carver just rolled his eyes. “Dare you to snort it,” Hawke suggested. 

“I know you think I'm stupid, but I'm not that stupid,” Carver replied.

“Templar training must be good for something,” Hawke said, earning a punch on his arm. 

His brother couldn't linger away from his post (not that Hawke particularly wanted him to tonight, anyway), so he left shortly after. Hawke managed to explain what he wanted from Sandal and earn a grin and a triumphant “Enchantment!” when the amulet was done being worked on. He felt the slight tingle of the gold in his fingers and tucked the medallion into his tunic pocket.

Hawke tried to act casual when Anders came home, sitting and pretending to read a book instead of worrying about what the mage would think of his gift. “Hey, love,” he said, grinning up at him, then noticing the furrow in his brow. “What’s wrong? More mage troubles?”

Anders shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I’m just tired,” he said, and then looked at Hawke suspiciously. “Did you know your book is upside-down?”

“Hah, whoops.” Hawke meant to toss the book onto the table, but it slid off and landed on Dog, who let out a heavy snort and rolled over in his sleep. He played off his nervousness with a shrug and a crooked grin. “So, I was thinking...“

“Should I sit down for this?” Anders asked worriedly.

“No. Well, I mean, if you’re tired, then yes you should sit. And then I can stand. Or we can both stand.” He got to his feet, and Anders continued looking at him in that clinical way, as if wanting to check him for head injuries. “It’s just, well. We did say it’s been a year, with us together, and I thought…” He trailed off, taking the amulet from his pocket and holding it out. “Happy Anniversary?”

Anders blushed. “You… oh. You didn’t have to, love.”

“‘Course I did,” Hawke replied stubbornly.

The gold glinted in the firelight, and when Anders’ fingers touched the metal, a shiver went up his arm, followed by faint blue cracks in his skin. “Is this… wait. This is lyrium. You enchanted it with lyrium?” Anders asked, confused.

“Yeah, so… remember when you told me about your warden days? Or the fun bits, anyway. And you and Justice being friends with the Warden Commander, and they gave Justice a ring to wear back when he had a body. A different body,” Hawke clarified, rambling nervously. “So I remembered that and…”

“...and you enchanted this with lyrium for Justice’s sake,” Anders finished. Inwardly, the spirit radiated contentment, and Anders beamed at Hawke. “That’s so thoughtful, love. He’s thankful.”

“Oh, good,” Hawke sighed. “I wanted to get him something too, and I had no idea. Hard to shop for a Fade spirit. And you, for that matter. Hope you like the amulet, though. Because that was your present. Technically.”

The blond turned it over in his hand, the symbol faintly familiar. “It’s… very shiny. What does this mean?”

“Took it off a slaver,” Hawke said proudly. “Fenris said it’s the symbol of the Tevinter Chantry.”

Anders almost dropped it in shock. “You… this is the symbol of the Black Divine!? Maker, Garrett, if anyone in the Chantry saw this... do you want to get me _executed_?”

“No!” Hawke shouted, grasping Anders’ hand and cursing himself for his idiocy. “Shit, I knew I’d fuck this up. I just… I thought since, you know, mages there aren’t treated like they are here, that it would be a symbol for, you know… at least somewhere, someone believes that the Maker doesn’t actually hate us.”

“Oh, love.” Anders came forward and caressed his cheek, eyes soft. “It’s… well, it’s nothing if not a very _you_ present. I understand where you were coming from. I’ll just… wear this on the inside of my clothes, I think.”

“You can’t spell ‘happy anniversary’ without ‘heresy’,” Hawke offered, grinning cheekily. Anders facepalmed with his free hand, a bit of leather around his wrist. “What’s that?”

It was Anders’ turn to stammer and blush. “Oh,” he said, tugging the bracelet off. “It’s much less dramatic, but...“

“For me?” Hawke ventured delightedly. He took the woven band and ran his fingers over the braid, examining the amber and lapis and getting the idea behind it immediately. “It’s you. Both of you.”

Anders smiled sheepishly. “We wanted to get something for you, too. And I freely admit that I had help from Isabela and Merrill.”

“I love it,” Hawke said, and kissed him, letting it linger as Justice pressed forward to share in it. “I’ll never take it off, once I can figure out how to put it on.”

Anders snorted and took it from him, fastening it to Hawke’s wrist. “Doesn’t seem fair for you to give me something shiny and not receive something just as good.”

“Stop it, it’s brilliant. Besides, I don’t need shiny things. You’re my shiny thing,” Hawke said lovingly.

“I don’t know if that makes any sense, but it sounds good,” Anders admitted, and wrapped his arms around Hawke’s neck.

“Speaking of Isabela,” Hawke managed, after another few kisses and some groping. “She helped me with something else for you. Upstairs.”

“Oh?” Anders smirked, running his hands across Hawke’s broad chest. “She hinted, but wouldn’t tell me what it was. I’ll bet that it might go with some of Justice’s ideas for some personal _thanks_ of his own.”

Hawke grinned. “We’ll see if red’s his color.”


End file.
